


"And yes, we've just begun"

by animurder



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Sniper is a loner but he just doesnt know how to socialize, Songfic, scout is a twink, scout shut the fuck up for 3 minutes challenge failed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23907964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animurder/pseuds/animurder
Summary: Sniper could now hear the song almost clearly, the cheerful and sweet melody filling up the silence around him.“Talkin' it over, just the two of us”Engineer’s room lay right ahead of him, to his right, but ….He heard the music bleed from the edges of the open doorframe labeled "Scout".“Workin' together day to dayAs the boy adjusted the bandages on his left hand, he tapped his fingers in time, his freckled face leaning into the warm rays of sunlight shining from the bedroom window, buck-toothed smile emphasizing the deep dimples in his cheeks.“We'll find a place where there's room togrow”The music continued on, scratchy vinyl sweeter and more punctuated up close.“(And yes, we've just begun)”---Aka: Sniper accidentally catches feelings and scout's motormouth just won't quit
Relationships: RED Scout/RED Sniper, Scout & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 115





	1. "We've only just begun"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thanks for reading! 
> 
> This is the first work i've written in this fandom, and I'm super excited to work on this story I've planned out! 
> 
> I'll try and update once a week (maybe more once i'm finished with my final exams.)
> 
> \---------
> 
> The song used in this fic is "We've only just begun" by the Carpenters. 
> 
> I was looking for songs released around the time period the TF2 story takes place in ('69 - '71) and came across this one and fell in love with it, and how it relates to this couple. 
> 
> (The line _So many roads to choose, We'll start out walkin' and learn to run _especially hit me as such a great line for these and solidified this song for this couple.)__
> 
> _  
> _Thanks for reading!__  
>  ___________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t often that sniper was actually inside the base.

Besides meal times with the team, or grabbing a quick snack he usually stuck to his camper, and more specifically, to the privacy it gave him.

He’d occasionally grab a beer and catch an episode of The Brady Bunch with Demo on the rinky-dink excuse for a television Engie had rigged up in the main room. But, other than that, he entered the base, where the rest of his teammates lived, on a strictly ‘need-be’ basis.

And, he supposed, stepping timidly into the hallway that led to bedrooms of his teammates - this was one of those instances.

Gripped in his gloved hand was an old but well-kept book that he’d borrowed from Engie.

He’d been pretty bored recently, and with the 3 day cease-fire, he was a couple minutes from clawing at the walls of his camper from boredom.

He wasn’t exactly the most… sociable person and, as embarrassing as it was to admit it, he had no idea how to even go about striking up a conversation with any of his team members.

He and the rest of his team were on good enough terms – he definitely wasn’t a stranger, but he preferred to keep to himself… because, truthfully, that’s all he knew how to do.

He nervously ran his hand over the nape of his neck, feeling the bristles of his hair beneath the hat as he made his way towards the sleeping quarters.

He’d read and re-read his dozen or so gun and hunting-related magazines before he came across the book on the countertop whilst Engie was cooking up dinner. After seeing the way the Aussie regarded it with interest (how he saw this while his hunting glasses were still on was beyond him), he’d offered to let him borrow it – an offer the taller man had graciously accepted.

It had definitely been an interesting read – a bit above his paygrade, with all the technical terms and mechanical jargon, but he had definitely gleaned some interesting information from it. He was definitely eager to try and disassemble and attempt some modifications on his rifle using his new knowledge.

It was about midday, and Sniper knew everyone would be out and about around the base – Medic and Engie in their workshops, Soldier probably bothering Engie, Heavy taking Sasha out for her daily cleaning, Pyro and Demo probably finding things around base to blow up and/or set on fire, Scout running around the base until he passed out, and Spy doing… whatever he did.

Knowing this, he chose to drop off the book on Engie’s bedroom desk, rather than go into his workshop and risk getting dragged into…. whatever nonsense Medic and Soldier had probably created by now.

The bedroom corridor was as plain as it was practical – a long, white hallway with 9 rooms – 4 on the right and 5 on the left, sunlight streaming in through two high windows on either side. The rooms were spaced a good distance apart – with silver ‘name plates’ on each door, reading “Soldier” and “Spy” and the like.

Leave it to Mann Co. to get them cheap, flimsy doors, but shell out the big bucks for pointless frivolities like that. He sighed and pulled down the brim of his hat, covering the top of his face in shadow, brown eyes barely peeking over the rims of his glasses.

He began to make his way down the lit hallway when, very faintly, so quietly he could barely hear it, his ears picked up a melody.

It was dance-like but tender, soft and gentle strumming at first, words fading in softly as he walked, slowly, further down the hallway.

_“We’ve only just begun to live”_

A short, record scratch, a pause in the tempo before it resumed abruptly.

_“A kiss for luck and we’re on our way,_

_We’ve only just begun”_

Sniper walked past the first bedroom, the Spy’s, and the music became clearer. He could now hear that the upbeat, poppy tune was punctuated by gentle tambourine, tapping rhythmically.

_“_ _Before the risin' sun, we fly,_

_  
So many roads to choose”_

He walked past Pyro’s room, the music slowly growing louder, his interest piqued by the airy melody.

_“We'll start out walkin' and learn to run_

_(And yes, we've just begun)”_

He passed Demo’s room, then Medics (not that the man ever used it in the first place – preferring to sleep in his ‘lab’ instead), now being able to hear the little bits of slow and buoyant trombone punctuating the melody.

_“Sharing horizons that are new to us_

_  
Watching the signs along the way”_

He stepped past the room with the “Heavy” nameplate, then further past the empty room with “Sniper” written on the door. He took a second to look at it, at the nameplate slowly gathering dust.

Because of the light around him, he could just barely catch his own reflection, staring back up at him, from the grubby silver plating.

_Tired._

He didn’t look long.

He could now hear the song almost clearly, the cheerful and sweet melody filling up the silence around him.

  
_“Talkin' it over, just the two of us”_

Engineer’s room lay right ahead of him, to his right, but ….

The room past that, the last one, with the door cracked slightly open…

He heard the music bleed from the edges of the doorframe labeled “Scout”.

_“Workin' together day to day_

_  
Together”_

Upon further reflection, he could confidently say that he had absolutely no idea why he did it.

Maybe it was a strange combination of the gentle music and comforting light spilling in from the windows.

Maybe it was his own boredom and deep-seated curiosity.

Maybe it was a strength beyond himself, something pulling him along, like a puppet on a string.

Maybe it was some sort of cosmic force, an entity that people have tried to name and define for generations.

But hell if he knew.

All he knew was that his feet, by no volition of their own, moved forward, the charming melody and scratch of vinyl drawing him in, like a moth towards a light.

Against his better judgement, being controlled by, for once, no logic or rationale, he stood at the room – the silver plating reading “Scout” on the door reflecting off a beam of light.

And, with the chirpy, poppy tune finally reaching his ears clearly, he, still in a sort of trance looked inside.

_“And when the evening comes…”_

Scout was in his room, indeed in front of an old, beat-up looking record player. The room itself was a mess – cans of bonk littering the floor, crumpled up clothes in piles, papers and other miscellaneous trash strewn all over the floor.

Sniper raised his vision to look at the boy, a slight disgusted expression on his face.

And then

His throat suddenly had never felt so dry in his life.

When he was a child, Sniper had once, at school, had a classmate accidentally knock him off the jungle gym in the playground. He remembered falling, plummeting through the air, and landing, promptly, on his back.

He remembered not being able to breathe, in or out, and waiting, desperately, for his lungs to function again.

So, it happened that he came across this feeling a for a second time in his life.

_“…we smile””_

Scout was dressed, mostly, in his normal uniform, having only taken off his shirt, which lay at his feet, his dog tags still around his neck, shining in the light from his own bedroom window.

His short hair was messy, probably from the removal of said shirt, his face was blushed red, showing that he’d probably just come back from a run around the base, and he was _smiling_.

Not his normal ‘shit-eating grin’ smile, or his ‘cocky and a little too self-assured’ smile that he wore around so much. This smile was … soft and ….gentle.

It wasn’t braggadocious or overly cocky, wasn’t masking any sort of worry or nervousness.

It had nothing to prove and nothing to put up a front to hide behind.

No, this smile was… pure. Honest. _Genuine_.

Something Sniper had seen so little of in the year and a half since he'd come here.

And more than the fact he was smiling, Sniper, having been so caught up in that fact, almost missed something even more important.

He was _dancing._

_“_ _So much life ahead.”_

He wasn’t giving his full effort, probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but there he stood, Sniper observed, bobbing his head in time the music, shifting his weight and tilting his shoulders and hips in time with the tambourine beats, the smile on his face never faltering.

The dog tags gently swung against his lean chest, the miscellaneous bandages on his slim stomach stretching with his movements.

As the boy adjusted the bandages on his left hand, he tapped his fingers in time, his freckled face leaning into the warm rays of sunlight shining from the bedroom window, buck-toothed smile emphasizing the deep dimples in his cheeks.

_“We'll find a place where there's room to grow”_

In those two seconds, Sniper suddenly felt something he couldn’t quite express.

It was like he had been hit by a bolt of lightning – like he’d been sent through respawn five times at once.

His body froze, a cold shiver hitting him from the top of his head to the toes of his boots, his throat was practically the Sahara by now, and he swore that his heart had stopped beating for a second.

The music continued on, scratchy vinyl sweeter and more punctuated up close,

_“(And yes, we've just begun)”_

In the two seconds after that, Sniper suddenly realized exactly what he was doing.

Dread.

That was the first feeling to wash over him as he peeled his eyes from the boy and quickly hurried to Engie’s room.

He opened the door, placed the book on the neatly organized desk, then all but sprinted down the hallway.

His entire body and face were flushed red and he mentally kicked himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Not to mention creepy, and an altogether invasion of privacy.

He was a _professional_.

Dread was quickly replaced by shame as he attempted to tug the brim of his hat even further down, hoping for it to completely engulf him at this point, as he hurried to get out of the base and into his camper.

What a strange thing to do – did that make him strange too?

Is that who he was – just somebody who lives in a car and only goes inside to spy on his own teammates?

The people who trusted him?

He felt a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat.

Why did he do that? _Surely, he'd just wanted to hear where the music was coming from initially_ , he attempted to rationalize, making a beeline out of the base.

_I just heard a nice tune and wanted to see where it was comin’ from. Yeah, that’s all it was._

But then….

He arrived at his camper and slammed open the door, throwing his glasses and hat onto the small table, sinking into his secondhand couch, pressing his palms onto his burning temples.  
  


_Why did I stay?_

Determined to put this line of thought out of his mind, he grabbed his rifle and his kukri from the seat of his couch. He knew how his mind worked – all this mental energy could either be spent on running loops inside his own head, berating himself and overthinking… or it could be spent on something more productive.

He didn’t even bother to change into his hunting boots before he went out the door, glasses and hat in hand.

He missed all of his shots that day.


	2. Smoke on the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking news: local baguette interrupts emo Aussie's brooding time™. More at 7

By the time Sniper had come back from his spur-of-the-moment hunt, he had, at least, managed to wear himself out, physically.

As appealing as his barely- functional bed looked, he decided against his better judgement,to have a smoke before he turned in.

It took him a while to find a pack in his camper. He'd been, more or less, trying to quit recently, so it took a good couple minutes before he was able to find a stray box that had fallen under his couch.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a voice bubble up.

_You were so close._

_It's almost been.... a month now, hasn't it?_

He chose to ignore it, quietly closing the door of the camper and stepping outside, in an attempt to distance himself from the vehicle that had encouraged the thoughts he would much rather not deal with right now.

Away. He could get away.

Away from all his thoughts, and the constant reminder of his life choices that was his barely-functional camper van.

At times like this, he'd remember what his dad used to say to him whenever he'd quietly slink off after a (rare) argument.

"You can try as hard as you want, but problems are something you can't run away from."

He found a smile ghosting his lips, the sudden memory warm and slightly comforting in his heart, emerging like a tucked-away photograph.

_Guess it's a good thing I have long legs, dad._

So it was that he found himself on the railing of the fire escape, outside the second floor, leaning against the brick wall. He pulled out his packs of cigs, eyeing them wearily, before sighing and lighting one.

He didn’t have the mental energy to feel disappointed in himself today. Against his better judgement, he took a puff, and blew out the smoke into the night sky.

He’d been doing a lot of things against his better judgement recently.

He stood there, smoking and looking at the night sky for a few minutes, drinking in the silence. He wanted to enjoy it while he could. He took another puff, blowing the white air from his lips.

“I know ya' here, frenchie.”

Sniper heard a sigh next to him.

A cloud of red smoke appeared and then he saw the elegantly-dressed Frenchman standing next to him, arms leaning on the railing.

The recently-uncloaked man eyed Sniper’s cigarette, cocking an eyebrow slightly, his French accent taking on the form of the wind that blew by, all curls and soft, rounded, letters “You know, those things will kill you.”

Sniper was silent for a moment, exhaling another puff of smoke, watching it dissipate before his eyes into the cool night air.

“I s’ppose something has to”, he settled on, holding the smoke in between his middle and index finger, watching the paper burn and peel backwards, its own self-destructive process.

A beat, and the spy merely hummed, watching nothing in particular in the sky above him.

Sniper didn’t find himself as annoyed with the other mans’ interruption as he thought he’d be.

He sighed, deeply. A three day ceasefire and he’d already gone soft.

The Frenchman, noticing his sigh, tilted his head, ever so slightly, towards him, his gaze still focused on the stars above, “something trouebling you, bushman?”

The cufflinks on the mans’ suit shone, Sniper noticed, reflecting the moonlight.

Silver.

_Like dog tags._

The Aussie’s grip on his cigarette tightened and he did his best to shake the thought from his head.

He did his best to keep his posture appearing neutral and relaxed,

“what’s it to ya, derro”.

Spy took a pause before replying, shifting his gaze towards the Aussie, “I believed you had quit those last month.” He gestured toward the cigarette between his fingers.

Sniper, above the ever-so-small but still present panic, began to feel annoyance rise in his gut,

“Kind of ya to notice, but have you considered minding ya own business,” he spat, trying to keep his voice sounding flat and uninterested, not bothering to look back in the masked man’s direction before taking another drag.

The shorter man seemed to consider his words, before releasing his arms from the railing, leaning against the wall near him, pulling out an expensive-looking cigarette case.

“Don’t be flattered,” Spy replied, tapping out a single cigarrette from his case before putting it back in his inside jacket pocket, “I am a spy. It is my job to notice things.”

The Frenchman produced a lighter, seemingly from nowhere, and lit his own cigar, taking a puff and letting the grey smoke blow away in the gentle breeze, “it’s why i’m, supposedly, 'the best'.”

“And why’s this concern you, then? Isn't it my business?”

The spy turned his teammate to look up at him, sharp blue eyes piercing through him,

“As long as I am on the front lines with you, everything everyone on this team does iz my business.”

Sniper stood in silence, taking a last draw from his now tiny cigarette before throwing it on the floor, and putting it out with his boot.

The French accent lilted on the words as he spoke, his words cutting marrow deep.

“Always so easy to read.”

Sniper walked to go down the stairs on the fire escape, the metal clicking beneath his boots, a headache beginning to form below his temple, “fuck off, Frenchie.”

He didn’t need to turn around to see the smile on the masked man,

he could hear it in his voice.

“Goodnight to you too, bushman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing accents is hard.
> 
> Thanks for all the love and wonderful comments I've gotten on my first chapter. I'm finishing up my exams soon and really looking forward to working more on this! <3
> 
> Thank you again!
> 
> P.S. Don't smoke kids


	3. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cease-fire really do be messing with Sniper's mental health doe 😳 😳 
> 
> (The final "prologue" chapter - the actual 'story' starts next chapter)

Sniper, in near darkness, made his way back to his camper, lighting another cigarette on his way, irritated with the Frenchman having interrupted his smoke.

As stupid as he realized it sounded, he didn’t _distrust_ the man, though he certainly didn’t trust him either. The elegant European was the very definition of someone who “played all sides”, and Sniper knew only to trust him as far as he could throw him. Being his teammate, or “brothers in arms” as Soldier liked to dramatically call it, only went so far with spies. One can only take so many knives in the back before they learn to develop an instinct.

He took a puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke against the outside of the camper van, which he had arrived at.

When the spy had pried, his instinct was saying not to give him any information, not that he would have anyways. Perhaps he had been a bit rough with him, but he didn't think the mysterious man would take it personally.

He knew this song and dance as well as the rest.

Sniper had always been a person that valued his privacy. The nature of his job already made it easy for him to make enemies. He didn’t need any additional targets – that he wasn’t looking at through the scope of a rifle.

Sniper looked down at his newly-lit cigarette and sighed.

It had been a month since he’d last smoked.

He didn’t really know why he stopped.

He didn’t particularly _want_ to.

He just….

He took another puff and watched the smoke rise in the night breeze.

He didn’t like depending on anyone, or anything.

Whether it was a bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigars, or a person you gave a part of yourself to.

They all created the same thing –

Dependencies.

On something other than yourself.

Sniper didn’t like that concept. His whole career, he had been dependent on nothing but himself – something he wasn’t ashamed to admit he was proud of. If he wanted to eat, he would have to find something to kill and cook. If he wanted to get a (relatively) nice camper so he could be alone, he would have to take out his targets efficiently so he could get his paycheck.

Take out any unnecessary dependencies, and you’ll find yourself on the easiest way towards self-sufficiency. That was part of the reason why he lived like he did - no need for fancy gadgets, fancy color TVs or expensive clothes. 

He took another drag of his cigarette, lost in thought, before looking down at it.

_Welp. No use wasting it now._

He went around to the side and climbed into the drivers seat, cranking the window down and keeping the door propped halfway open, letting the cool night air drift in. He supposed he’d been lost in his thoughts recently, probably because of the cease-fire. He tried to ignore it, but a thought kept growing in the back of his mind, bubbling to the surface, bitter like acid.

_Is this what you are when you’re not distracted – when you’re not killing people._

He shrugged off the wave of nausea and flipped his radio on, turning up the volume, wanting some noise, anything to distract him. A new release by the Jackson 5 was playing, upbeat and funky, and mellowed out his thoughts as he finished his cigarette, thinking about everything and nothing in particular, looking up at the stars in the night sky.

Perhaps he should go to town with Demo next time he went on a booze outing – he was feeling like he might need some alcohol in the future, especially if this ceasefire continued.

It’d been over two months since the last time he called his parents – perhaps he should phone them and check up. He liked hearing the voice of his mom and dad, but the secrecy of his job left him with a sour feeling every time he’d talk to them, knowing he’d have to lie to them.

Sniper went to fiddle with the volume knob until he heard that the song had ended, and an announcer was speaking now.

_“…folks, a real up-and-comer – it’s the new release that everybody’s been wanting to hear, here’s ‘We’ve only Just begun’ by the Carpenters, only on 102.4.”_

The song started with gentle strumming, dance-like but tender, the words fading in.

Sniper, lost in his thoughts, went to turn up the volume, wondering what time it was in Australia right now. Would it be too late to call his parents? His dad would definitely not appreciate being woken up so ea…

_“_ _Before the risin' sun, we fly_

_  
So many roads to choose_

_  
We'll start out walkin' and learn to run_

_  
(And yes, we've just begun)”_

Sniper froze in his seat, the shrunken cigarette inches away from his lips.

_“Sharing horizons that are new to us_

_  
Watching the signs along the way_

_  
Talkin' it over, just the two of us”_

He took the drag he had been holding in front of his lips, breathing out a large puff of smoke, half outside and half on the windshield of his van, fogging up the glass.

  
_“Workin' together day to day_

_  
Together_

_And when the evening comes, we smile”_

He watched the glass slowly de-fog, circular patches spreading on the temporarily grey glass until it slowly became more and more clear.

_  
“So much of life ahead_

_  
We'll find a place where there's room to grow”_

The last bit of smoke-induced fog disappeared off of his windshield, and in the glass now, he saw his reflection. And god did he look tired.

So tired.

  
_“(And yes, we've just begun)”_

_Huh,_ Sniper wondered, wishing the fog was still there, _Is it normal to be ashamed to look at your reflection?_

He fell asleep in the drivers seat, hours after the song had ended, rubbing his eyes to try to remove the flashing images of silver dog tags and auburn freckles in the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!  
> This marks the end of the "prologue" section - the meat of the actual story will start next chapter!
> 
> I like to view these first chapters (1-3) as kinda a prelude before the actual story (which is why these chapters are also a lot shorter than what I usually write.)  
> Also why there was a lot of introspection and internal monologue - the chapters after this I don't really intend to be quite so 'emo' oop.
> 
> Anyway - lookin forward to getting on the story.
> 
> Thanks for all the kind messages! ❤️


	4. Stranger in the nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a nest is more comfortable with two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is actually starting yeee!
> 
> I write 3 chapters in advance before I post, and i'm already up to 11k words. So excited to finally share this!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments, support, and constructive criticism - I really appreciate it <3
> 
> One suggestion that I read and ended up agreeing with was dropping the accent usage. Honestly, it was difficult to write, so I toned it down significantly, and think it looks a lot better without it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who offered that suggestion!

_**2 months later** _

Sniper didn’t know if he had anywhere he could call ‘home’, but this – this was probably the closest he could get to it. His tiny, cramped little sniper’s nest, nestled above the warehouses and the buildings, was definitely where he felt the most…. ‘himself’.

He sat on a, ever so familiar, wooden crate, eyeing down the scope, pinpoint vision, surveying the ground below for the BLU team, his finger already resting on the trigger.

It was a mess, for sure. On the other wooden crate sat a coffee pot and mug he’d grabbed from his trailer, as well as his other sights and scopes for his rifle – empty jars lying on the ground next to it. It was small, dusty, and the halfway boarded-up window made for only soft light inside the cramped quarters.

And Sniper wouldn’t have it any other way.

The ceasefire, which had ended last week, had been their longest yet. He was, guiltily, happy to see that he wasn’t the only one handling the temporary truce poorly. Medic had been extra snappy lately, and Soldier had been steadily growing more aggressive, eventually challenging his teammates to duels over the smallest things (as Sniper had found out when he’d asked the American to pass the salt at dinner).

Even Engie had been locking the door to his workshop recently, and the ever-kind Heavy had occasionally been muttering under his breath, annoyedly, in Russian, at his teammates.

The only people seemingly unaffected were Demo (probably because he was permanently drunk anyways), Pyro (because god knows what was going on behind that mask), and Scout (who had, seemingly _impossibly_ , upped his motormouth to 110%).

So, to say it was a relief when the order came in for a new mission, was an understatement. As the team gathered together, finally, over the familiar table, looking at the map spread on its surface, you could practically feel the relief in the air. Even Demo was, more or less, coherent, and Scout’s knee kept bouncing with anticipation.

Soldier glanced down at the map and cracked his knuckles, an almost maniac smile splitting across his face.

He and Spy, both near the right corner of the table, had shared a quick, slightly concerned glance, before the deep, booming voice had shaken the whole room out of their anticipatory thoughts,

"Alright men! The end of war is **_never_** and it seems like **_never_** is going to start again tomorrow!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sniper could see Spy pinch the hold of his nose, exasperatedly.

Guess not everyone was so happy to come back.

“So whaddaya need,” Scout piped up, standing near the left corner of the table, fidgeting with barely-contained excitement, “We gotta grab the intelligence here, right?,” he pointed to a roughly-sketched briefcase on the map, drawn in red crayon.

Engineer, standing next to the young man, hummed in affirmation, his gloved hands going to grasp his chin as he looked down at the map, deep in thought, “Yep, which makes right around that there corner a great-lookin’ spot for a sentry…”

From there on the team, with barely-contained excitement, had gone about formulating their plan. It was a pretty standard mission, just capturing some intelligence and transporting it back, and they might have even scoffed at how boring it was a month ago.

Now however, with everyone’s nerves on end and half of the team itching for a fight, it was definitely a welcome occurrence.

Climbing back in his nest yesterday definitely felt long overdue. Even as he’d begun to feel the oh-so-familiar aches in his knees and at the base of his spine that came from holding his confined position for hours, it felt less like pain and more like the appearance of an old memory.

He sighed, finally releasing his sight down the scope of his rifle, which was propped up against the window. He sighed and pulled his shoulders back, stretching the muscles in his arms, before grabbing his coffee mug.

If there was one thing he had learned from being a wild game hunter in the outback, it was to pay attention to little detail. In the wild, where temperatures could change from boil-you alive heat to stone-cold hypothermia literally overnight, it was a valuable skill to aquire, and one that you wouldn’t last long without quickly learning.

And so he had learned to pick up on little things – on the slight dilation of a gator’s pupils that meant it was about to strike, on the change of pitch in the cries of a flock of birds that meant ‘dangerous prey ahead’, on the slight change of texture and position of the dirt beneath his feet that meant a deadly snake was nestling beneath and about to strike…..

Or, in this case, on how, when he took a sip of coffee from his mug, there was, just barely, a little less liquid left than there had been the last time he’d put it down.

A small noise, barely the quiet movement of the wind, and Sniper had already drawn his kukri, quickly snapping back and grabbing onto the warm body that was behind him, knife against the adams apple of the stranger’s throat.

The Aussie didn’t even have time to process what had just happened, his instincts so ingrained in him, until he could see his knuckles going white from his firm grip on the knife handle.

“J… Jesus Christ, man,” Scout barely managed to choke out from underneath the headlock he was held in, bright blue eyes blown open wide.

After a moment of checking that it wasn’t the spy (which he could tell because he hadn’t been knifed by now), Sniper paused, and then released his grip and sighed, looking down at the now-spilled cup of coffee on the floor.

Scout followed his gaze, rubbing his throat in a (failing) attempt to save-face and maintain his ‘cool’ demeanor,

“Geez, for such a’ stick figure you… you sure have a hell of a grip,” he wheezed, recovering his breath.

Sniper sat back down on his wooden crate and turned to eye the scrawny boy and his bony limbs, questioningly.

“What?” Scout retorted to the Australian’s unspoken comment, puffing out his skinny chest, silver dog tags dangling from his neck, “This is all muscle, baby.”

Sniper, turning to check out the window, gave a half-hearted snort that could have passed as a laugh and, from the corner of his vision, saw Scout scoff in response.

The freckled boy moved his coffee pot from the other crate before he could respond, sitting on it crossed-legged, fingers drumming against his knees. “Yea, I had a sip – but I’m so fast it don’t surprise me that you couldn’t see me,” he looked down at the spilled coffee on the floor, “But seriously man, who drinks their coffee completely _black_? Like – straight up just from the ground to the cup? Like c’mon – might as well be drinkin’ straight up gasoline at that point.”

Sniper wasn’t really quite sure what was happening, much less what he should say, but that didn’t seem to dissuade the fast-talking boy, who seemed to assert himself immediately in the new environment.

“So yeah, you can keep that gross stuff, I only took a’ sip.”

He eyed the spilled coffee on the floor,

“But you have more so I guess it’s not a big deal or nothin’.”

The man seemed to, for the first time, take a breath, looking at the room around him, “wow – what a dump…”, the blue-eyed man seemed to notice hunter’s straight-faced expression,

“um, I mean, not that there’s anything _wrong_ with it, just that… it’s so cramped and quiet and frickin' secluded and… - geez, how can you stand to stay in here all day?”

The marksman, who had now returned to looking down the scope of his rifle, didn’t turn away before he responded, after a beat.

“I like the quiet.”

Scout, on his part, either didn’t get the social que, or did get it, but just consciously chose to ignore it.

Sniper’s money was on the latter.

“Yea, ‘ill bet, ‘cos you have no idea how long it took me ta find this place,” Scout emphasized his point by gesturing to the general room with his palms, “almost hadda’ run the whole map – which isn’t a big deal for anyone as fast as me or nothin'... but _still._ ” 

The sprinter pressed his palms on the crate, cocking his elbows.

_Why is this happening?_ , Sniper wanted to ask, but after a beat he decided to just let the moment pass on the breeze that drifted through the tree in front of the window.

His nest was supposed to be _his_ place – a rare place of solitude and quiet for him, and this bloody ADHD gremlin had seemingly just waltzed in and decided to upended it.

His eyes still down the scope, he asked the question that had been hanging in the air,

“Why’d you come here mate?”

The huntsman was surprised to hear the short pause that followed his question before the scrawny kid responded with a hum,

“hmmm, honestly – I dunno.”

Scout, surprisingly again, took another moment to gather his thoughts,

“honestly, I already tried hangin’ out with Engie and Medic, but they said I was botherin’ them and made me leave,”

He held out five fingers, counting down.

“Heavy’s with medic, like _always_ ,”

he put a finger down,

“Pyro’s so happy to be back that he just keeps lightin’ things on fire, and Demo’s so drunk that he’s probably a fire hazard, and I’m not gonna stick around for _that_ shitshow,”

two more fingers down.

He continued, two fingers left in the air,

“Spy’s a prick, and I can’t even find him to bug him about it,”

a finger down,

“and Soldier’s goin’ full out ‘Art of War’ and painting his face with the Blu team’s blood,” he shuddered, putting his last finger down.

Sniper changed out his sight, switching scopes to a red dot, “And there’s nothing else ya could rather do?”

Scout let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh,

“That’s _exactly_ the thing – I tried to talk to Medic and say, listen’ here doc, we need to get the intelligence, right?”

He scrunched his freckled face, eyebrows drawing closer together in annoyance, “So why can’t I just run in and grab it – I’m like lightnin’ – I’ll be in and out before they know what him ‘em,” a large crooked smile spread across his lips, “Easy – am I right?”

Sniper hums, more in acknowledgement than agreement, still looking out the window.

“Anyways, then the doc goes all _‘nooh herr szcout, you ihziot, youu’ll be shohtt ahn cohmpromize zhe intelligenze’_ ,”

Sniper lets himself smile at Scout’s, slightly exaggerated, impression of the German doctor.

“anyways – he basically shot down my _genius_ plan and just told me to _‘diztract myself frum doing anyzhing stupid’_ ”,

he put up air quotes around the german-accented line,

“until he and Engie can get their newest ‘contraption’ working or whateva’. Not that it’ll probably help or nothin’”

The young man fell into a short-lasted, almost irritated silence.

“So yeah, now here I ‘am…”, he trails off, uncharacteristically.

The short pause is enough to draw Sniper’s attention.

“I mean, it’s cool if I stay here for a bit, right?”

The brown-eyed man turned from his rifle, only slightly watching the boy out of the corner of his vision.

As unusual as it is on the boy, and as quickly as it passes, he could swear that he spots a hint of nervousness hidden under his cocky exterior, gone so quickly that Sniper had to second guess whether he’d really seen it at all.

The marksman took a moment to think.

Yes, this was his place of solitude, his place of quiet – of peace, away from everyone else. What right did the loud-mouthed gremlin have to come and disrupt that? Yet…

He didn’t particularly hate it.

And he hated that.

He hated that he _didn’t_ hate it.

If anything… it was almost …. soothing. The boy was annoying and talked so fast that the hunter was honestly surprised that he didn’t run out of breath, but he got the feeling that he wouldn’t be mad if everything he said wasn’t met with a response or even fully heard. Hell, it seemed the boy was just talking for the sake of talking.

Having that constant stream of consciousness, barely in his mental vision, but still there, still present, still rooting him and reminding him that yes – he was alive and present and _here_ , was almost comforting to the bushman.

It wasn’t particularly distracting and, as much as he hated to admit it, it almost felt… nice.

To have someone talk to him, have someone want to interact with him, even if he didn’t interact back with as much force.

Sniper realized he had gone silent, and the hint of worry in Scout’s expression had grown, even as he tried to hide it, chewing the inside of his check raw and examining the wall next to him.

The Australian was suddenly aware of the silence in the room, which struck him as an unnerving type of amusing.

His room had always been silent. It always had been, and it had always felt comforting.

But now… Sniper could hear a pin drop and it was almost… unbearable.

Like a string being stretched, seconds before breaking.

“nah, I don’t mind,” Sniper replied, honestly, shifting his focus on his rifle again.

The tension instantly drained from the boy’s features, and the silence in the room seemed to shift back into a comfortable place.

“yea - of course you don’t – I’m a charm to talk to, y’know,” he replied, arrogantly, that crooked smile once again painting his face, dog tags mirroring the shine in his blue eyes, "start hanging out with me more and maybe some of that charm'll rub off on you, if you're lucky."

“Oi, I didn’t say that, bugger,” Sniper replied, without thinking.

He was relieved when he heard the smile on Scout’s lips in his response,

“You didn’t have to.”


End file.
